


Congratulations

by BrushDog



Series: University IwaOi [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, Drunk Sex, Hook-Up, Iwaizumi and Oikawa going to different universities, M/M, Mentions of other Seijou guys, Pining, Rough Sex, these boys are dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrushDog/pseuds/BrushDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi and Oikawa stepping forward in two different directions. The ways that distance grows and how they learn to close it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Congratulations

**Author's Note:**

> My take on IwaOi where they both wind up going to different universities and what happens from there.

It's barely a week after their defeat at the Spring High preliminaries when the first call comes in. Iwaizumi doesn't find out about it until his mom mentions it in an offhanded comment over dinner one day, in the sort of tone that implies she's certain Iwaizumi must have known already.

He didn't.

He confronts Oikawa during lunch the next day, since morning and afternoon practices have abruptly turned into a relic of the past for their team's small group of third years.

"Why didn't you tell me you got scouted?" He asks, bluntly refusing to rise to Oikawa's usual cheerful greeting.

Oikawa's expression falters for a moment. His mouth hanging open in surprise before he thinks to put words in it.

When he does, it's with the corner of his lips tugged into a smile with a forced levity to his tone.

"Did you come to give me your congratulations?"

Something churns at the back of Iwaizumi's throat, burning with bile and the tight tension of anger. It swells with the throb of his heartbeat before he swallows it away.

"Who gives congratulations for something you knew was coming all along?" He says on an exhale, noncommittal.

"You don't have to be so mean about it, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa's lower lip juts out in a pout, some semblance of familiarity returning to their usual banter.

"I was complimenting you, idiot," Iwaizumi retorts. He turns to avoid looking at Oikawa's face, to avoid the small groups of their classmates gathered around, some of them lending half an ear to the conversation for gossip's sake, others more engrossed with their own conversations. His eyes find the open window, where the trees outside are already starting to turn orange and yellow to signal the oncoming fall.

Even though he'd spent his entire life with Oikawa at his side. Even though he'd drawn Oikawa up from his lows and been there to celebrate his greatest highs, even if he'd said he'd be the one to win in the end, at the back of his mind, somehow, he had always known that Oikawa would still outpace him. That eventually Oikawa would find a way to stand on a stage where Iwaizumi couldn't stand beside him.

When he thinks about it that way, the eighteen years they've had together seem both incredibly long and painfully short all at once.

He expels the thought with a rough breath, shaking his head. Refusing to acknowledge reality won't do anything to change it.

"Congratulations, you idiot," he says, raking his hand through Oikawa's hair despite his rising protests.

\---

Oikawa passes his entrance exams with a disgusting amount of ease. Iwaizumi doesn't bother fighting the urge to shove a hand into his face when he gloats about it. The exams for students who've been scouted are different anyway. His own results are somewhat less impressive. He misses his first school by several marks, but he at least makes it into the second, a college with a decent reputation on the outskirts of Tokyo.

"Iwa-chan, we'll be in Tokyo together," Oikawa reminds him, his vitality apparently restored by this simple revelation.

"On opposite sites of the city," Iwaizumi says, his tone flat.

"It's all right, it's still the same city."

Iwazumi steals a glance at Oikawa's face at that moment. Oikawa isn't watching him. His eyes are bright, lifted above the press of their fellow students, focused with a determined intensity on the black ink of the test results in front of him. Iwaizumi knows that he's already looking forward to when he'll be able to stand on the court again.

Turning away, Iwaizumi tries to find the same sort of image in his own future. He tries to imagine what it's going to feel like receiving tosses from someone other than Oikawa, if he even wants to try to sync with someone who hasn't seen the way he's grown from the clumsy efforts of lobbing a ball back and forth as children to the efforts of pushing his body to its limits, to feeling the strain and burn of strength building in his body, driving him slowly forward, step by step.

There's other setters in the world, he knows. There's setters as good as Oikawa, if not better. But from this moment forward, it's those numbers written before him that decide one part of his future, the part that carves out a crevice between himself and Oikawa, between himself and anyone else who can even hope to match Oikawa's level of skill.

It won't be the same, he thinks.

The end of their senior year passes in a blur and graduation leaves him misty-eyed with a feeling like a fist clenched tight around his chest. Oikawa cries like a baby, so Iwaizumi tells himself he doesn't need to. But Oikawa isn't just crying over Iwaizumi. He's crying over Hanamaki and Matsukawa, over Yahaba, Watari, Kindaichi, and Kunimi. Kyoutani at least has the sense to beat a hasty retreat in the other direction the second that Oikawa fixes him with a watery glance.

In the end, he walks home with Oikawa the same way they've walked home nearly every day of the past eighteen years. Each footstep somehow feels heavier than the last, each moment that stretches on in silence lends more of a feeling of unnamed poignancy to the space they've found themselves trapped in.

Iwaizumi stops at the gate in front of his house and Oikawa turns to face him. They haven't exchanged a single word since the group dispersed after an impromptu dinner and a few rounds of karaoke. The sun set hours ago. The streets are only lit by the fluorescent glow of the lights high overhead, casting stark and unnatural shadows over the lines of Oikawa's face.

Oikawa is smiling. It's gentler on the edges, relaxed enough that Iwaizumi can tell it's genuine.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, but the moment steals his words from him.

Iwaizumi's tense confrontation with Oikawa over his scouting call is now a faded memory. They've even talked about what it's going to be like going to different colleges on easier terms, smoothing over the transition with promises to keep in touch, to meet up over the breaks. Oikawa's family is from Nagoya originally, so Iwaizumi knows he won't see him over the break for New Year's or Obon, but there's still Golden Week, semester breaks, and plenty of vacations outside of that.

That might be why it feels strange for him to say anything at this moment, why he can't seem to find the way to give the situation the right sort of weight that it deserves.

In the end, it's Oikawa who takes the hint, his lips stretching wider as he lifts a hand to wave.

"It's not like this is 'goodbye,' Iwa-chan. I'll see you later."

Iwaizumi lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and nods. "Yeah, see you later."

He turns away, his hand finding the latch on the gate as he pushes it open to step inside.

\---

The separation of going to different universities is unsettling at first.

Sometimes, it feels almost normal, almost the same as it was before. Oikawa texts him throughout the day, the same sort of stupid observations and conversational asides that they'd have normally, and Iwaizumi texts him back in just the same way. They're not face to face, but Iwaizumi doesn't need to be to know what sort of face Oikawa's pulling, to know whether or not it's a sarcastic singsong or a whining pout that's shading the tone of his voice. It's different, hearing about classes he's not attending, about classmates he's never met, but it's still familiar and comfortable.

Other times, it's uneasy to the point of being unbearable. Iwaizumi catches himself stepping out of his dorm room on autopilot, hands shoved into his pocket and head down. It isn't until he reaches the end of the hall that he remembers Oikawa's more than a short walk away, that he can't just head down the block and hit the buzzer at his front gate on demand.

When the realization sets in, it crawls under Iwaizumi's skin and settles there. It's like the feeling of a shirt that's a size too tight, like static making every hair on his arms stand on end. He doesn't like it, but what he doesn't like even more is that he can't understand where it's coming from.

He can still reach Oikawa. They still see each other on the weekends more often than not. The only thing that's changed is the distance. Yet even as he presses through his first semester and the first part of the second, the feeling doesn't fade.

When Iwaizumi goes home over the new year's break Oikawa isn't there. He still stops outside of Oikawa's house on his way back from the station, staring up at empty, dark windows and wondering if Oikawa's doing a better job than he is at relaxing over the long vacation.

Towards the tail end of his second semester, Iwaizumi gets a girlfriend. Oikawa's squealing fans may have jaded him, but girls seem to act differently when Oikawa isn't around. The girl who asks him out is a calm, sensible type. She'd already been coming over to his dorm to cook him meals, pestering him lightly about making sure he's finished his projects and studied for exams. Iwaizumi's not used to being needled in a way that doesn't carry Oikawa's flirtatious sing-song, but it's comfortable in its own way.

He's out on a date in Tokyo, shopping or going to see a movie, he can't really remember, when he catches sight of Oikawa on the other side of the street. For a moment Iwaizumi isn't sure it's him. They haven't had a chance to connect since before the new year, and Oikawa hasn't changed much, but it's the circumstances that throw him off.

Instead of a woman, it's a man at Oikawa's side. He seems well dressed and fashionable enough, but even at a distance Iwaizumi can tell he's far too young to be some kind of agent or coach, but he seems too old to be a teammate or a classmate. Oikawa's talking animatedly to him, his eyes bright and his smile split wide and genuine over his face.

Words stick in Iwaizumi's throat like a solid heat lodged there. In the next instant, Oikawa's eyes turn and catch his. 

Iwaizumi can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears louder than anything else. The moment stretches longer than it should, recognition bright in Oikawa's eyes and a knowing smile spreading over his lips. The man at Oikawa's side notices just as the tug of Iwaizumi's girlfriend at his arm tears his attention back to her.

"Did you see something?"

He looks away and doesn't look back, a sudden realization pounding against the back of his eyes.

"Thought I saw someone I knew," he breathes out, harder than he means to. "Must have just been my imagination."

\---

Iwaizumi is stretched out on the floor of his dorm room when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's about an hour after he got back from the date. He's alone. He'd told his girlfriend he wasn't feeling well and needed the rest. It wasn't entirely a lie. 

He doesn't need to look at his phone to know it's Oikawa texting him. He'll get messages from Hanamaki or Matsukawa, sometimes even Yahaba or Kyoutani on occasion, but there's no reason for any of them to reach out to him now.

Staring up at the ceiling of his room, he wonders if he can ignore it for now, but the phone buzzes again not more than a minute later as an insistent answer to his question.

A rough exhale escaped his lips as he shoves himself up with one hand, the other fishing into the pocket of his jeans to pull his phone out and flip the lock screen open to see whatever it is that Oikawa's got to say.

>> Iwa-chan, you never told me you had such a cute girlfriend!

>> I'm jealous!!

Iwaizumi frowns down at the message. It's true he never told Oikawa himself, but his mom knew, which meant Oikawa's mom probably knew, so why wouldn't Oikawa know something like that?

His fingers over over the screen for a moment before he taps out a reply.

>> You had a new friend too.

>> You shouldn't change the subject, Iwa-chan~

The furrows between Iwaizumi's eyebrows press deeper. His throat tightens, his skin suddenly feeling prickly and too-warm.

>> Her name's Yasuko. We just starting going out a month ago.

>> What a lovely name~

>> She's a very lucky lady~

There's nothing more than the characters against his cell phone screen, pixels arranged in the shape of kanji and kana, but Iwaizumi can see the face behind them all too easily. He knows just from the words that Oikawa's pulling one of those stupid plaster smiles he pulls whenever he's trying to hide how he feels about something and it pisses him off.

He presses down with more force than strictly necessary with his next curt reply.

>> Your turn. Who's the guy?

Oikawa's reply is slower. Some of the tension slips from Iwaizumi's shoulders, his jaw setting as he watches and waits for it.

>> His name's Hiroshi.

One eyebrow arches upward at the sparse reply. Iwaizumi's fingers are already hovering over the screen to reply when the next message comes in.

>> We've been going out for a week now.

The message hits Iwaizumi like a ball to the chest. His fingers are flying, tapping out a reply on instinct and anger alone before he can think to stop them.

>> what the hell, shittykawa?!

>> don't fuck with me like that!

The words "you're not into guys" sit ready and waiting on his screen when he catches himself.

He's staring at them, disbelieving at the sudden and visceral twist in his gut brought on by Oikawa's message when his phone buzzes again.

>> I wouldn't lie to you, Iwa-chan.

All at once the heat fraying at the edges of his nerves, the clench in his teeth and the uncomfortable burn in his stomach go cold and heavy.

Oikawa wouldn't trust him with something like that unless it was the truth. Out of anyone else in the world, Oikawa trusts him the most and Iwaizumi knows it. This isn't some carefully planned barb meant to rile Iwaizumi up. This isn't some taunt or teasing aside. Oikawa means this, Iwaizumi realizes.

And he can't handle it because he's jealous.

His mouth is dry with the realization, his breath and voice stuck in his throat. Distantly, he's grateful that at this moment Oikawa isn't there with him, that Oikawa can't see the tension set in his jaw, can't see the way his lips draw tight and painfully against each other as he types out his reply.

>> Sorry.

Then, a second later.

>> Congratulations, Oikawa.

He flips his phone screen off and tosses it aside without thinking. He lifts his arms and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force the tumult raging behind his temples into order, until splotches of white and red play against the backs of his eyelids. Swaying with the pressure of his own hold, he lets himself fall into the floor again. His back makes contact just as his phone buzzes again, but he resolutely ignores it.

\---

Iwaizumi finds that he can't ignore Oikawa any more than he can ignore the dead weight of his own feelings have left at the center of his chest. But what he can do is hold himself back. Restraint feels as uncomfortable as distance. He still replies to Oikawa's messages as quickly as he always has. He never turns Oikawa down unless there's a valid reason to do so, but instead he finds words dying in his throat in the middle of conversation. His fingers stop and hover over the send button on his phone before pruning away half of what's been written with methodical purpose.

Iwaizumi would have to be some kind of idiot to think that Oikawa hasn't noticed the shift in their conversations, so he doesn't even entertain the thought of it. If it bothers him, he can say something about it, Iwaizumi thinks. As much as he'd rather avoid trying to explain it, as he'd rather avoid laying his own jealousy and too-late revelation of his own unrequited feelings bare for Oikawa to see, he knows well enough that lying about it wouldn't help anything.

Lies by omission, however, are another thing entirely.

The change spurs Yasuko into action far faster than it makes Oikawa move. Iwaizumi hadn't noticed that he'd changed the way he'd been around her as well and he does feel like an idiot for that. When she breaks up with him, he's the one who apologizes, which earns him a quiet, sympathetic glance, that digs into his chest and makes the weight hang heavier for a while.

He and Yasuko stay friends. She doesn't pry much. She still stops by to spend time with him and cook dinner on occasion. Two months later, she's found a new boyfriend and even those visits start to become more and more infrequent.

At the end of his first year of college, Iwaizumi feels like the past twelve months have turned everything he knew about the world on its head. He wants a way to set it back to rights, so when Matsukawa mentions he's joined a neighborhood team with Hanamaki in passing one time, Iwaizumi leaps at the opportunity.

They're not really any good, but the change of pace is exactly what Iwaizumi needs. With every toss he spikes from their team's moderately skilled setter--a shorter guy with thick, messy hair and an easy smile by the name of Kazuo--he feels like he's pushing against the divide growing between Oikawa and himself. The practices aren't anywhere near as intense as what he had at Seijou, but everyone on the team shares a similar sort of unbridled passion for the game. Iwaizumi lets himself get swept up by it.

He gets closer to Kazuo as well. At first, it just feels like working to build the usual sort of communication and trust that comes between a setter and an ace. Kazuo doesn't know how he likes his tosses, Iwaizumi has to get used to Kazuo's understanding of the flow of the game. But by the time the heat of summer starts to beat down on them, and the glow of the sunset still peeks out on the horizon when their evening practice disbands, more often than not Iwaizumi finds himself making his way to the station with Kazuo at his side, the two of them chattering about practice, classes, and anything in between.

Between the time he spends at practice, in his classes, and dedicated to his studying, Iwaizumi hardly had a shortage of welcome distractions from Oikawa's presence. The gnawing sensation at the pit of his gut and the uneasy tension at the back of his throat never seem to quite go away, but they're easier to push aside when he can look forward to feeling the crisp hit of the ball against his palm and the familiar ache of a match well fought.

In the summer, they enter into a neighborhood tournament, just for a bit of a challenge to see how well they've come together as a team. When they wipe the bracket in a clean sweep of every match, they're all more than a little surprised, but the high that comes from the rush of victory is too much to resist. Within a few hours of the award ceremony, they've all found their way to a nearby izakaya, with Matsukawa loudly claiming the first round for himself. Hanamaki takes the second and by the time the third comes around Iwaizumi's got enough of a healthy buzz going to claim it for himself.

The rest of the party itself fades into a blur beyond that until Iwaizumi feels Kazuo's head falling against his shoulder, the setter's body radiating heat against his side.

"Looks like Kazuo's done for," Matsukawa remarks at the sight, his face flushed with a wide grin.

"And he's nominated you to take him home," Hanamaki adds, lifting his glass to Iwaizumi.

"Cut him some slack," Iwaizumi says, turning to nudge against the weight at his side. "Oi, Kazuo. You still with us?"

"I'm with you," Kazuo says, slurred and painfully slow.

Iwaizumi lets out a rough breath through his nose. "Like hell you are."

In a single motion, he pulls Kazuo's arm over his shoulders by the wrist, hauling Kazuo up to his feet and only wobbling on his own a little.

"I'm taking him home," he declares. "Thanks for everything."

There's a chorus of slurred replies and laughter in his wake as he turns, steadily making his way towards the exit.

"Iwaizumi," Kazuo mumbles against his shoulder, steadily tripping over his own feet. "I can take care of it myself."

"I'm not about to risk that," Iwaizumi says, shifting his grip and settling a hand on Kazuo's waist to steady him.

The hostess catches them at the door, assessing Kazuo's inebriated state in an instant and offers to call a taxi for them.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to tell her they don't need one when the door to the izakaya slides open.

The hostess turns to the newcomer, but Iwaizumi can't even hear her usual greeting over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

Oikawa's sharp eyes take in the state of Iwaizumi, Iwazumi's hand on Kazuo's waist, Kazuo's arm over his shoulder, Kazuo's face pressed half against his neck, before they meet Iwaizumi's gaze.

Iwaizumi's mind immediately races to his phone in his pocket, to the message from Oikawa that morning, the one he hasn't responded to yet, that he pushed out of sight so he wouldn't have to deal with finding a way to piece together the right reply.

"Makki and Mattsun said you have a game today. I'll be cheering for you~"

One of them probably invited him to the after party, if he wasn't already at the match itself. Iwaizumi had been so focused on the game that he hadn't really thought to look up to the stands. He didn't think he'd find a familiar face there, so there was no reason to bother.

Only now, he's face to face with someone all too familiar, his throat suddenly dry with goosebumps prickling over his skin and Kazuo's head lolled against his shoulder, his breath hot and wet over the hammering skin of Iwaizumi's pulse.

He knows what it looks like, he knows what Oikawa thinks it is, and as much as he wants to scream that it isn't, he can't find the words.

Oikawa is the first to regain his composure. His smile has an edge like a knife that only incrementally softens when he turns it to on the hostess with his usual forced pleasantries. Iwaizumi can't parse the words he says. His teeth bear down on his lower lip as he tries to settle the tumult inside of himself into something that makes sense.

Oikawa's angry with him. Oikawa is livid. Iwaizumi can tell just by the slant of his eyebrows and the tenor of his voice.

It isn't until Oikawa's palm makes contact with his shoulder, the skin of his fingers around Kazuo's wrist burning where Oikawa's hands brushes across them, that he snaps out of it. Oikawa pushes him to the side, to step past and Iwaizumi stumbles. By the time he's found his balance again and whipped his head around Oikawa already seems too impossibly far away to bridge the gap.

Kazuo groans from being jostled and the rest of the world crashes back into a somewhat hazy focus in Iwaizumi's inebriated mind.

"Sorry," he says, shifting his grip on Kazuo as he turns back to the open door. "Let's get you home."

Kazuo's place is only a few stops away on the subway and the trip passes faster than Iwaizumi can think. Oikawa's anger has summarily unseated his own jealousy with a tidal wave of confusion and bitterness that won't make a cohesive thought no matter how Iwaizumi tries. Why the hell should he care if Oikawa's angry? Why would Oikawa even be angry about him heading home with a guy on his arm? Oikawa has what's his, and that doesn't include Iwaizumi.

He finds himself standing in Kazuo's entryway with his fingertips tingling and his skin feeling chilled at the sudden absence of Kazuo's body warmth at his side. Kazuo's trying not to fall over while pulling his shoes off and babbling apologies when Iwaizumi abruptly cuts him off.

"Can I--" Iwaizumi starts, then stops when Kazuo looks up at him with a wide eyed glance and his words catch in his throat. He coughs to clear it and scrubs at the back of his neck with one hand, turning to find a point on the wall just beyond Kazuo's face to focus on.

"Can I use your shower?" he asks.

Kazuo's eyes go wide. Even though Iwaizumi didn't think it was possible, his cheeks tinge impossibly redder. For a brief second of sobriety Iwaizumi's gripped by the fear of what he's just done, of what he's asked and what Kazuo might think of him.

It melts away when Kazuo nods quickly, finally pushing his shoe off and sitting back on the entryway step, looking up at Iwaizumi with a raw intensity that catches him by surprise.

"Yeah, of course," Kazuo says. He licks his lips, holding Iwaizumi's gaze before he adds, "I'll go after you?"

"Yeah," Iwaizumi nods, reaching down to pull his shoes off as well.

The buzz from the party fortunately doesn't fade away as he showers or afterwards as he waits on Kazuo's bed wearing nothing more than the towel wrapped around his waist. His thoughts are lulled into a shapeless buzz with the white noise of the shower so he doesn't even bother trying to think his way out of what he's decided.

When the shower stops, he knows at least that he won't back away from this. His eyes are fixed on the doorway when Kazuo steps into it, likewise clad in only a towel. The blush on Kazuo's face quickly travels down to his neck, one hand gripping the edge of his towel self-consciously.

"You know, if you're not sure..." Kazuo offers, his words still a little sluggish and slurred.

Iwaizumi pushes himself up off the bed, letting his towel fall away as he does. His mind is still hazy, the edges of everything blurred as he pours his focus into a single point around the man standing in front of him right now. He curls his hand around Kazuo's wrist and Kazuo looks up at him. Kazuo's staring, wide eyed with parted lips when Iwaizumi pulls his hand away.

"I'm sure," Iwaizumi says.

Neither of them quite knows what they're doing well enough to make it good, but neither of them has really hit a point of sobriety where something like that matters. They kiss with teeth jarring against teeth, Iwaizumi's nose crushed awkwardly into Kazuo's cheek. Iwaizumi pulls away when it's too much to bear, half-laughing at himself out of incredulous self-depreciation. The sound of it cuts through the thick tension in the air and Kazuo grins, laughing along with him in a moment of startling absurdity.

It goes easier after that. They figure out kissing. They graduate to touching. Eventually they stumble their way back onto the mess of Kazuo's bed and the rest is hands fumbling against chests and hips, of mouths against necks and shoulders. Iwaizumi comes first with Kazuo's hand wrapped around his cock and he returns the favor as soon as he finds his wits again.

They fall asleep in a tangle of limbs with Kazuo's hair tickling the bottom of Iwaizumi's nose and Iwaizumi's arm spread wide over the narrow expanse of Kazuo's bed.

When the morning comes, it's Iwaizumi who wakes up first, sleep caked at the corner of his eyes and breath tasting as foul as he's sure it smells. Fortunately, Kazuo sleeps like a rock, so it isn't any difficult feat for Iwaizumi to dislodge himself. He stares down at Kazuo's naked body for a moment, the soft light of the morning framing the choices he made with stark clarity.

His hands feel weighted at the wrist when he pulls one up to drag it through the mess of his hair, letting it curl over his short spikes before his palm settles as a warm pressure against the back of his neck. He looks to the door then back down to where Kazuo's snoring away peacefully.

Iwaizumi doesn't like to have regrets. He doesn't like the way they twist in his gut and make his jaw clench too tight. He hates how they burn at corners of his eyes with a heated shame that seems to permeate through his entire body. In the end, he doesn't want Kazuo to think it was something that it wasn't, but for him to make sure of that he needs to know exactly what it was himself.

He lets out a breath in one long exhale, feeling his nostrils flare with the force of it. Distance might not be the right answer, but it's the only solution that Iwaizumi sees at the moment. Quietly, he gathers his clothes up from the bathroom and dresses. His shoes are in the entryway where he left them, and the door doesn't creak when he shuts it at his back.

It isn't until he's made his way down the stairwell and halfway across the block that he pulls out his phone to text Kazuo an apology. There's a message notification waiting for him, from Oikawa.

>> Congratulations, Iwa-chan.

\---

What he has with Kazuo never becomes anything more than a drunken one night stand after their tournament celebration. When Iwaizumi texts to apologize for leaving early, Kazuo brushes it off with a lighthearted reply that he sleeps like the dead when he's drunk and that's all they ever say on the subject. The next time they practice, there's no change in their conversation or the easygoing way that Kazuo approaches him, but the lack of change is what starts to gnaw away at Iwaizumi.

He'd joined the team to distract himself from Oikawa in the first place, but now every time he sees Kazuo he can't help but remember the cold fire of Oikawa's eyes that night at the izakaya. Fortunately, as luck would have it, the end of the semester looms over all of them with its promise of exams and research papers. Iwaizumi uses the excuse to beg out of practice, and the team accepts it, though Hanamaki and Matsukawa both give him a look that implies they know there's something more than what Iwaizumi's letting on.

Iwaizumi waits for either of them to press it in private, for some message to come begging for any sort of explanation for the shift in his attitude towards Oikawa and the team, but the longer he waits, the further it slips from his mind.

Oikawa's stopped texting him altogether. When Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa's name up on his phone, the message from the morning after his night at Kazuo's place sits there, mocking him, daring him to find some way to respond after all this time, even though he knows he hasn't found it yet.

The absolute radio silence is probably partly to blame for the complete shock that hits when Iwaizumi's reading through the call ups to the national team for the Olympic qualifying matches and sees Oikawa's name on the list. 

His hand flies for his phone, flicking the screen unlocked in an instant. His skin feels electric, charged. In that moment the weight that's made its home at the bottom of his gut, that's hovered at the back of his throat and stalled out any attempt to reach out to Oikawa before it could start lifts completely with a giddy effortlessness. But it's Oikawa's message waiting on the phone screen that stops him. It's the condescending and too sharp memory of Oikawa's smile that brings reality crashing back around him.

He hates the feeling. He hates the whiplash in his mind that forces his lips into a tight scowl, the edge of his phone screen digging hard into the joints of his fingers.

He needs an outlet. More than anything Iwaizumi just wants to push every bit of heat and bile building in his body out and away. He misses the crisp, hard slap of the ball against his palm that comes from a well-timed spike, from Oikawa's spikes, and the release that always came with it.

His phone screen flips itself back off a few moments later. He stares at it for a moment before he shoves the phone back into his pocket in defeat, pushing up and off from his desk and flipping his computer screen off.

There's books strewn open across the floor. He'd only been checking the call ups during a study break for an exam that's coming up, but he knows that even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to push any kind of meaningful information into his brain right now. He doesn't spare a second glance to his room, grabbing his keys, wallet, and train pass as he pushes out the door, locking it behind him.

The September night in Tokyo is crisp, the air unusually chilly with the promise of the coming winter. Iwaizumi doesn't have his coat but it doesn't matter.

He walks for what seems like forever. He walks under overpasses, past train tracks, drunken salarymen, love hotels, and the press and rush of the city all around him. His skin prickles into goosebumps, leaving a spider webbing sensation of electricity beneath them even when he pauses to rub his hands against his arms.

He hadn't set out with a destination in mind, but by the time the streets around him begin to shape into something more familiar, he realizes what he's done to himself. Oikawa's apartment building looms over him, neon orange hitting the lines and curves of concrete leaving it washed in an unearthy orange glow.

Iwaizumi swallows at the sight of it. It's been almost a full year since the last time he visited. Oikawa had insisted on seeing some random American film that had just came out, but his phone alarm didn't go off that morning. Iwaizumi had wound up waiting in the entryway of Oikawa's 1DK--bigger than Iwaizumi's by just enough to spark a little jealousy--watching him scramble to fling an outfit together and put his hair into order.

They were too late for the movie and Oikawa had whined like a petulant child until Iwaizumi just rolled his eyes and walked up to buy tickets for the next showing, dragging Oikawa off to a nearby bakery in the meantime. He was placated in the end, laughing and over animatedly rehashing every important detail that Iwaizumi had obviously missed.

The memory feels sharp on its edges as he recalls it. It's something too fragile that he can't linger on it too long without the happiness he felt then crumbling under the weight of the divide between Oikawa and himself now. Iwaizumi lets out a rough breath at the thought of it, shaking his head. Hell, he doesn't even know if Oikawa's still living in the same place.

"This is so stupid," he mutters to himself. He turns away from the building, his hand moving to his pocket, fishing out his phone when a familiar voice catches his attention instead.

"Well, isn't this a surprise."

Iwaizumi's head snaps up like a ricochet.

Oikawa is standing in front of him. He's alone this time, a gym bag slung over one shoulder, one hip cocked out as he stops a meter away. Even in the dim streetlight, Iwaizumi can see the fading flush on his cheeks, the sweat against his skin that makes it all too obvious that he's just come from the court.

Iwaizumi remembers the news and his back straightens automatically, his shoulders pulled back in an attempt to measure up against Oikawa even though he knows there's more than just a stretch of asphalt that divides them now. Oikawa takes the shift in with a careful flick of his eyes but remains impassive.

"What's so surprising about it?" Iwaizumi says, forcing his tone to be level, pressing down on every jumbled word he wants to shout now that it's just Oikawa and him alone. For a moment, the words fight back, pressure rising against the back of his throat, his palms sweating and chilly in the fall breeze before he curls them into fists, swallowing against his discomfort.

"I saw the news," he says.

Oikawa blinks, something that almost seems to be genuine surprise flitting across his eyes before they lock down again, cold and calculating. "Ah, they did announce that today, didn't they? Well? Did you come to offer your congratulations, Iwa-chan?"

"Like hell I did," Iwaizumi spits out with more vehemence than he intended.

That cracks Oikawa's facade. The hand on the strap of his gym bag tightens, the fabric twisting under the impressive grip of his fingers. His smile twists into something like a grimace, the corner of his eyes tight and sharp.

"I see you're as brazen as always, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, voice pitched mockingly high, one word tumbling out after the other. "Does that mean this is the pathetic state you've come to without me by your side? Weren't you the one who said when we fought you were going to beat me? Is this the only place you think that you can win--hgnh!"

Iwaizumi fists seize on the edges of Oikawa's jacket and he pushes with all of his strength. His vision blurs at the edges and he doesn't even realize what he's done until everything comes back into focus and he sees Oikawa sprawled against the ground in front of him. His heart pounds in his ears, each breath pulling from his lungs like it's drawing through the ragged edges of sandpaper.

He swallows the disgusting feeling down, his lip curling, the blunt edges of his fingernails digging into his palms at his sides.

"You're one to call me pathetic," he says, the words rough and low.

Oikawa's glare wavers for a moment, something passing behind his dark eyes in the dim evening light, before his lips curl around his next words, careful and deliberate.

"Is your new little setter doing well, Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi's eyebrow twitches, his jaw set in a stubborn line, turning just enough to the side that he doesn't have to meet Oikawa's gaze.

"Wouldn't know," he exhales. "I haven't seen him in a while."

"Ah, how unfortunate." Oikawa pushes himself slowly up off the ground, his gaze lowered as he makes a deliberate show of wiping the dust off of his uniform. "You were rejected, weren't you? You poor thing."

"How's Hiroshi?" Iwaizumi says, catching Oikawa with a sharp glare from the corner of his eyes, each syllable of the other man's name as sharp as a dagger on his lips.

Oikawa recoils with an audible intake of breath. His lips press together too-tight, his reply coming a moment too slow.

"He wasn't my type, in the end," Oikawa says, spreading his open palms out with an exaggerated shrug. "I really did enjoy his company, but it just wasn't working out."

The corners of Iwaizumi's lips draw into a deeper scowl, creases folding between his eyebrows. Oikawa catches it with a sideways glance, his lips curling in a victorious smirk.

"It's a shame, though," he goes on, turning to face Iwaizumi properly, the smile never leaving his lips. "You wouldn't believe how good he was in bed."

"I don't need to know," Iwaizumi says, even though he can feel his cheeks tinging redder from the images that his mind has so helpfully decided to supply.

"Oh? You're not even a little bit jealous?"

Iwaizumi jerks at the barb, gritting his teeth when he sees Oikawa's eyes light up with predatory glee.

Oikawa's victory, however, seems short-lived as the full weight of the realization settles on him. Iwaizumi can see it in the way his eyes slowly widen, the grin on his face faltering into something lacking Oikawa's usual bluster and confidence.

Iwaizumi's face is burning. He feels like a complete idiot and a coward. The feelings that have already driven a wedge between Oikawa and himself hang unspoken in the air, both of them well aware of what it means, but he still can't find a way to put words to them.

He's a split second away from turning to run, from shoving a muttered apology from his lips and moving to the nearest train station as quickly as his legs can take him when Oikawa's voice breaks him from his thoughts.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says. The familiar nickname seems to hold more weight than usual, drawing Iwaizumi's attention like a moth to the flame.

Oikawa's expression is fixed when Iwaizumi's eyes find it. There's no fire or heat in his eyes, his lips set in a smile that might have been gentle on anyone else. The hairs at the back of Iwaizumi's neck prickle and stand on end.

"What is it?"

"Between Hiroshi and me, just who were you jealous of?"

Iwaizumi think it might take a miracle of modern medicine to untwist his guts from the painful contortion they've made right now. His throat feels like it's swollen shut, the evening air suddenly cool enough to send a chill running up the skin of his arms and down his spine. But he can't keep running away from this forever. He's been too stupid about this whole damn situation.

He swallows and speaks. "It's Hiroshi."

The answer doesn't seem to faze Oikawa at all. Before there's even the slightest shift in his features, Iwaizumi grabs onto the courage that gave him those words and pushes forward, taking a step closer, his shoulders deliberately squared.

"Your turn now. Between Kazuo and me, who are you jealous of?"

That makes Oikawa react. His lips twist as a flush springs back to his cheeks, one delicate eyebrow twitching, his shoulders hunched up to his ears in a defensive crouch.

"Who says I'm jealous of anyone here--"

"Oikawa." Iwaizumi silences him with a glare. Oikawa squirms under it, his gaze flitting off to the side, to the ground, anywhere that isn't meeting the intensity carried in Iwaizumi's eyes at that moment.

"You're the one we were talking about, Iwa-chan. I never said that I was jealous at all."

"I didn't say it before you asked either."

"That's because it was obvious!" Oikawa turns to face him finally, arms straight at his sides with a stubborn pout over his lips. "You stopped talking to me, you stopped meeting up with me, you didn't even tell me you went off and joined Makki and Mattsun's team and you even found yourself a stupid little setter as a rebound, you idiot, Iwa-chan!"

"So you're jealous of Kazuo," Iwaizumi says flatly.

"Of course I'm jealous!" Oikawa's voice wavers and cracks. The corners of his eyes shine wet in the fluorescent glow of the street lights.

The declaration startles them both into silence, save for the heaving, hiccuping breaths from Oikawa's lips as he tries to find some semblance of calm. He swallows audibly, refusing to rub unspilled tears from his eyes, fixing a sharp, watery glare on Iwaizumi instead.

"What do you think it feels like when you come out to your best friend and he starts ignoring you for months on end?" Oikawa says with careful venom in his words.

Iwaizumi at least has the good sense to grimace at the accusation, one hand finding the back of his neck, rubbing against the skin there. "It'd feel shitty," he mutters in response.

"Hah," Oikawa laughs, cut and short. "Don't you think that's an understatement, Iwa-chan?"

"Shut up--" Iwaizumi retorts, biting back his words as he feels the weight of guilt twist in his gut. "It'd feel like crap, okay? It's an asshole thing to do, and that makes me the asshole, all right?"

"That's right." Oikawa smiles. "That makes you the asshole, Iwa-chan."

Even though Iwaizumi wants to smack the self-satisfied expression off of his face, he knows that he deserves it. He turns his head down instead, hands at his sides. His mind stumbles for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say, before the momentum and weight of everything takes its course. He drags his head down, bending at the waist, arms still coiled at tight at his sides until he's bowing before Oikawa in supplication.

He can hear Oikawa's surprised inhale and can only imagine what kind of expression he's making, but he doesn't bother looking to see it.

"Oikawa," he says, "I was a shitty friend who was too damn jealous to do the right thing for you when you told me you had a boyfriend. I cut you out because I didn't know how to deal with my own shit. I had some stupid drunken one night stand because I thought it'd help me get over it. I'm sorry. Forgive me."

For a moment, Iwaizumi holds the tableau, eyes closed and mouth set into a tight line. Even in the stretch of silence, he feels better, lighter. The weight he's been holding for the past several months feels like it's finally lifted--or so he thinks until he hears the shutter sound of Oikawa's cell phone camera.

Iwaizumi's gaze snaps up, to catch the watery grin on Oikawa's face.

"Do you want to see it, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa teases, smiling to himself as he looks down at his phone screen. "I think it's a good look on you."

"You jerk--!" Iwaizumi growls and lunges straight for Oikawa's gut.

They both tumble down to the street in a pile of flailing arms and legs. Iwaizumi scrambles against Oikawa, trying to reach for the phone while Oikawa squirms under him, making a valiant attempt at keeping it out of his grasp. Iwaizumi finally catches him, both hands curled around Oikawa's wrists, pinning them to the ground over his head.

"Hah," he grins, breathless and flushed with victory before he feels Oikawa's chest rumbling against his, Oikawa's breath hot over his cheek.

Iwaizumi looks down with a start, realizing the position they're in. Suddenly, every point of contact between Oikawa's body and his feels like a searing hot brand. He skin tingles where their hips are slotted together, his fingers flexing with uncertainty over Oikawa's wrists.

He meets Oikawa's gaze, his lips just barely parted before Oikawa presses up and kisses him.

His eyes slip shut on instinct, his lips still before he lets the kiss draw them into motion. Oikawa kisses exactly like what Iwaizumi expected. Every brush of his lips is silken grace obscuring the force and power held behind them. Iwaizumi feels like he's melting. He feels a giddy warmth suffuse through his entire body from the single point of contact that is Oikawa's lips on his. It washes over him, sapping the tension from his arms, stealing the thoughts from his mind, until he's completely forgotten about the phone, the picture, the fact that they're both sprawled out in the street in front of Oikawa's apartment, and every ounce of stupid, prickling jealous, that kept him from this moment for so long.

When Oikawa pulls away, it's on a soft, contented inhale, his body twisting lightly under Iwaizumi's in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

Iwaizumi only half-opens his eyes, staring down at Oikawa through dark lashes. He's still holding Oikawa down, but despite it Oikawa's the one who looks every bit like the cat who got the cream.

"Hey, Iwa-chan," he says, his voice soft and intimate, meant for only the two of them. "Why don't you come inside?"

The corner of Iwaizumi's mouth tugs into a half-hearted smirk despite himself. He leans in to capture Oikawa's lips on his own terms, kissing him slow and deliberately until he feels the tension slip from Oikawa's wrists under his hands.

Seizing on the opportunity, he snatches the cell phone from Oikawa's hands, pushing himself up off the ground in one fluid movement.

"All right," he says. He ignores Oikawa's indignant squeak of protest, flicking his thumb across the screen until the offending picture pops up. His gaze turns up to Oikawa, holding him still in its intensity. "But I'm deleting this first."

"Iwa-chan, that's mean!" Oikawa whines, pushing himself up off the ground.

"And--" Iwaizumi continues, his eyes never leaving Oikawa for a moment. "You're taking a shower first."

Oikawa's protests are silenced in an instant. His eyes flare wider, before he lets them slip down, half-lidded and sultry.

"Only if Iwa-chan goes after me."

Even though it was his idea, Iwaizumi can feel a flush crawling up over his neck and ears. He turns away, but this time it's to hide the smile that he can't seem to keep from curling over his lips.

"Yeah, I'll go after you."

\---

Aside from the difference in the layout and some missing knickknacks and trophies Oikawa's apartment is almost exactly the same as the room in Miyagi that Iwaizumi knows by heart. There's volleyball magazines and CDs marked with match ups and tournament dates spread over the table in the kitchen, posters from some American alien movies over the wall.

Iwaizumi wanders through the rooms, the white noise of the shower running in the background, taking in the subtle differences that define the ways Oikawa has changed in the past year. Even though the apartment is bigger, it's still just a 1DK so Iwaizumi doesn't think anything of stepping through the open sliding door into Oikawa's bedroom.

His attention immediately catches on the red jersey laying out on Oikawa's bed. He steps closer without thinking, reaching forward to run his fingertips against the white and red flag stitched to the chest. His fingertips pull on the smooth fabric, flipping it over until he can see Oikawa's name on the back, written in clear, black letters.

It doesn't take anything more than that to conjure the image of Oikawa stepping out onto the court clad in this jersey. He's seen Oikawa in different shades of blues and white, so the red is altogether different. In Iwaizumi's mind, it makes the strained flush of his cheeks burn brighter. It makes the determined fire in his eyes red hot.

Iwaizumi wants to see it, but not from the stands, not as some spectator watching rehashed coverage from matches played halfway around the world. He wants to watch Oikawa from less than a meter away. He wants to hear the ragged way that Oikawa's breath catches when he's pushed himself at the end of a third set. He wants to meet Oikawa's eyes reflecting fiery red from across the court in the unspoken language they had honed over the years and feel the stinging of his palm after sending the ball diving to the ground on the other side of the net.

"It's something, isn't it?" Oikawa's voice comes from behind him.

Iwaizumi's head lifts with a breath caught in his throat, the corners of his eyes stinging with some unnamed emotion. He lowers the jersey and brushes away the stray moisture there with a knuckle, turning to face Oikawa.

"It's something--" is all he manages before his words strangle again.

Oikawa smirks at the sound of it. He's leaning against the frame of the door, one arm lifted to rest his forearm against it, the other at his hip, holding onto the towel slung low around his waist. Every line of his body, from the angle of his shoulders to the curve of his ribs is deliberate, and the sharp light flickering across his gaze tells Iwaizumi that he knows damn well what he's doing.

Iwaizumi's seen Oikawa naked before, countless times, but with the feeling of Oikawa's lips on his and Oikawa's body pressed beneath him fresh on his memory, he's hopeless in fighting against the heated flush that springs to his cheeks.

"Just make sure you put it away," is all he can manage before dropping the jersey onto the bed.

"Of course, Iwa-chan~" Oikawa says with a playful lilt.

Iwaizumi deliberately refuses to make eye contact as he pushes past Oikawa and towards the bathroom. His mind and heart are racing so fast with so many different thoughts that he's honestly surprised he doesn't drop the shower head or scald himself on the hot water. Even when he sorts himself into enough order to bathe properly, the heat of the water and the feeling of his own hands rubbing soap against his skin is enough to surface a whole different fantasy than the one he'd been caught in before.

He wonders what it'd be like to catch Oikawa by the fabric of that red jersey and crush their lips together. He licks his lips at the thought of tasting Oikawa's sweat, of the breathless exertion that would come at pulling that fabric away from his skin, at leaving Oikawa with equally red and angry marks against his shoulders, his chest.

It's the fastest shower that Iwaizumi's ever taken, but he still finds himself half-hard by the end of it. With a groan, he twists the water off, running a rough hand through his hair as he steps back out to towel himself dry. Hiding his erection under the towel isn't exactly easy, but after a moment of struggling against it, the rational part of his brain shouts at him that there's no real point to bothering with it anyway.

With his towel haphazardly slung over his waist, Iwaizumi takes a breath to steel himself and pulls the door of the changing room open.

Oikawa hasn't bothered to close the door to the bedroom, so Iwaizumi can see him from across the apartment, stretched out over his bed on his back, his towel completely discarded and the uniform--thankfully--nowhere to be seen. His head turns when Iwaizumi steps out from the changing room, and even at the distance Iwaizumi can see the surprise, the giddy sort of disbelief that they're really going to do this, before Oikawa schools it into something more sultry as his eyes flick over Iwaizumi's body.

Iwaizumi scowls at the change, but he can feel the heat of his cheeks ruin the effect, every step he takes towards Oikawa only serving to remind him of his current condition.

"Ah, Iwa-chan, did you get started without me?" Oikawa, of course, has noticed as well.

"I didn't get started--" Iwaizumi says with an exhale, pulling the door to the bedroom shut behind him and stopping there. "I was just taking a shower."

"And thinking lewd thoughts?" Oikawa supplies, rolling over onto his stomach, his head propped up on both his hands.

The motion catches Iwaizumi's eyes. They follow the curve of Oikawa's spine to where it dimples at his lower back, just above the tight planes of his ass. His legs are painted in a muscled contrast of the shadows cast by the lamp on the bedside table, the only light in the room now that Iwaizumi's closed the door.

He's beautiful, Iwaizumi thinks. He wants to touch him, he knows, and his cock throbs at the thought of it.

"I was thinking about you, Shittykawa," Iwaizumi answers shortly, letting his towel drop as he clears the short distance between the doorway and the bed.

Oikawa's face turns away with a snap, but Iwaizumi can still see the flush creeping over Oikawa's ears.

"Well, of course you'd be thinking about me," Oikawa says in the nasally sort of pompous voice that Iwaizumi knows is all bluster and posturing. "After all, you left me here waiting for you, so wouldn't it be rude to think of anything else?"

Iwaizumi's eyebrow twitches. For a brief moment, he wants to smack him upside the back of the head for pulling that shit at a time like this, even if it's just nerves. They might have years of familiarity between them, but bridging the gap that's spanned the past months and charging headfirst into something new isn't exactly easy. Iwaizumi knows his heart hasn't stopped racing, he hasn't stopped feeling like he's standing on pins and needles since he set foot in Oikawa's apartment, and there's no way Oikawa isn't feeling the same.

So instead, he leans forward, bracing himself over the smooth skin of Oikawa's back with a hand to either side of him, and catches the skin at the back of Oikawa's neck between his teeth, pulling.

Oikawa yelps and twists so fast that Iwaizumi just barely manages to pull away before their faces smack together. When he blinks, his eyes open to Oikawa's bright red face staring up at him with wide indignant eyes, one hand slapped to the back of his neck.

"Iwa-chan--!" Oikawa sputters in protest.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, his fingers curling against the bedsheets.

"I'm going to fuck you, Oikawa," he says.

Oikawa sighs, his hands reaching up to curve against the short hairs at the nape of Iwaizumi's neck, pulling him closer.

"Your foreplay is terrible," he whispers over Iwaizumi's lips before claiming them with his own.

Iwaizumi grunts in reply, bearing down into the kiss with his weight, pressing Oikawa down against the bed.

Without the rush of adrenaline that fueled their earlier kiss, Iwaizumi is suddenly very aware at how Oikawa is undoubtedly much better at kissing than he is. It could also be his erection talking, but every swipe of Oikawa's tongue, every shift of his lips and hint of teeth sends a shiver down Iwaizumi's spine that spiderwebs just beneath his skin like electricity before feeding the growing heat of his cock. They're only kissing and he's already embarrassingly hard, wanting more than the teasing touches of Oikawa's lips on his, the steady pressure of Oikawa's hands buried in his hair.

He wants to touch Oikawa, to claim him, so he does.

Iwaizumi's hands lift from the sheets of the bed on their own accord, finding the taut skin over the muscles of Oikawa's arms and tracing over them. He finds Oikawa's wrists, curls his hands around them, and pulls them down until he's holding them down, pinned to the bed at either side of Oikawa's head.

Oikawa startles with a sharp inhale, breaking the kiss with some sort of protest on his lips.

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi says, cutting him off. His tongue darts out, licking against his kiss swollen lips as he watches Oikawa's words die in his throat, his eyes still wide and questioning.

"You--" Iwaizumi starts, before he realizes the words about to push from his lips and ducks his head against Oikawa's neck to hide his flush. "I thought about doing this to you so damn much," he says into the skin there, dragging it between teeth and lips with a biting kiss.

"Aha." Oikawa exhales, his breath uneven, wrists flexing against Iwaizumi's hold. "You're getting a little better..."

"Shut up." Iwaizumi's voice is coarse as his lips trail lower, teasing against the depression over Oikawa's collarbone. "I wanted you. I've wanted you ever since I knew you--I saw you with Hiroshi that day."

Iwaizumi's gaze flicks up to Oikawa's face. Watching for some sort of reaction there, some kind of confirmation.

Oikawa's smiling at him, but it's nothing forced or fake. It's the kind of smile that he'd always bring to the court when things got serious, the sort of smile that carries the weight of his trust and all the strength and sharp edges of his intensity. Iwaizumi's heart pounds in his ears, captivated by that smile.

"Then you've lost to me there, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says quietly, self-effacing and pleased all at once.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Iwaizumi mutters with a flushed scowl.

"It's only been several months for you, but I'd say that it's been three or four years for me."

Iwaizumi's eyes go wide.

"What--"

"Ah, it was probably that time you head butted me back in middle school," Oikawa goes on, a seductive hum undercutting his words. "It's a strange way to fall for someone, but just like Iwa-chan's punches, love is a force that can't be stopped--"

"--Why the hell didn't you say anything?!" Iwaizumi spits out, his cheeks flaring red, his throat tight with disbelief.

Oikawa blinks at him slowly, surprisingly demure despite Iwaizumi's outburst. His smile twists at the corners. "I was a coward."

"You moron," Iwaizumi seethes over Oikawa's chest.

"Iwa-chan, you're not thinking of how tender my youthful heart was--"

"That's not it," Iwaizumi says, pushing himself up until his face is level with Oikawa's again, one leg slotted between Oikawa's hips, his grip on Oikawa's wrists still tight.

"I'm right here."

Oikawa squirms under him at the sudden motion, his cheeks flushing darker. "I know that, Iwa-chan--"

Iwaizumi's eyes narrow, his breath harsh against his throat.

"And I'm not leaving."

He crushes his lips against Oikawa's before Oikawa has the chance to protest. The answer that he gives in the kiss, Iwaizumi decides, is much better than anything he could have said anyway. Oikawa's breath catches against his lips before he feels Oikawa pressing up off the bed, chasing Iwaizumi's lips with a sudden, desperate intensity.

More than the teasing touches, more than the practiced skill of Oikawa's earlier kisses, this is what Iwaizumi needs. This is what he wants. He answers Oikawa with a needy groan of his own, releasing Oikawa's wrists so that his hands can find the lines of Oikawa's ribs, so they can trace muscle and skin all the way down to the sharp jut of his hipbones.

Oikawa answers him in kind only a split second later. He feels the blunt hint of nails and the concentrated pressure of Oikawa's fingertips dragging over his back, panning restlessly up and down over the wide expanse of his muscles before they dare to dip lower, curling possessively over Iwaizumi's ass and squeezing almost hard enough to hurt.

Iwaizumi loves it. He moans into the heat of Oikawa's mouth. His fingers close over Oikawa's thighs and he spreads them wider, moving with the insistent pull of Oikawa's hands to slot himself completely between Oikawa's legs. Their cocks brush together with the motion, Iwaizumi's already hard and aching while Oikawa's seems to be growing closer with every second.

Iwaizumi wants to touch him, wants to close his mouth over Oikawa's cock and taste him, wants to feel the soft flesh go firm and hot in his palm, but the raw power of Oikawa's thighs beneath his hands is just as real and heated against his fingertips. The desperate, stuttering moans against his lips are just as tempting.

He rolls his hips forward instead, rubbing his erection over Oikawa's stomach, his dick, his balls. Oikawa shivers underneath him, whining something that might have been Iwaizumi's name into their kiss, his hands pulling at Iwaizumi's ass in a demand that doesn't need to be spelled out. Iwaizumi thrusts over him again, pleasure sparking against the backs of his eyelids, heat radiating from every point of contact between Oikawa's body and his.

The kiss breaks apart with a hissing curse from Iwaizumi's lips. Eyes still shut, he blindly moves his mouth over the corner of Oikawa's lips, over his cheeks, his jaw, and the column of his throat. Beneath him, Oikawa is pliant and wanting. Iwaizumi hears his name in a breathless purr as Oikawa's fingers knead in against the firm skin of his ass. He can feel the muscles in Oikawa's legs shift beneath his fingertips as Oikawa wraps them around Iwaizumi's narrow hips, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, urging him on.

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi breathes over his pulse.

His hips rut against Oikawa's like some kind of damn horny a teenager, smearing precum against the soft and sweat slicked skin of his abs and stomach. He wants more.

It takes too much effort to pull his lips away from Oikawa's neck as Iwaizumi pushes himself up against the bed one one hand. The other still holds Oikawa's thigh in a bruising grip, his body still sliding against Oikawa's as the heat of his cock seeks out some kind of friction.

"Oikawa--" he says again, his voice rough. He swallows against the thick swell in his throat but it doesn't go away. "Where's your--" he begins, but Oikawa stops him this time.

Oikawa's eyes are half-lidded over pupils blown wide. The flush on his face suits the pleased, predatory nature of his smile absolutely perfectly. Oikawa's hand closes over Iwaizumi's wrist, dragging it against the skin of his thigh and lower, down until Iwaizumi can feel his knuckles brush against the skin of Oikawa's balls.

"You should see for yourself, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says and release him.

Iwazumi frowns. His fingers probe forward, watching as Oikawa's grin deepens beneath him. When he touches the slick ring of Oikawa's entrance his eyes flare wide, glancing down between their bodies and then back up at the downright smug expression on Oikawa's face.

"You--when the hell did you--"

"You did take your time in the shower," Oikawa purrs with a rumble that shakes Iwaizumi down to his bones.

While he'd been sitting under a stream of hot water getting himself worked up over just the thought of having Oikawa for himself, Oikawa had been laid out on his bed, his arm held taut, fingers plunged in deep as they worked against his insides. He'd stretched himself wider, spread the cold slick touch of lube all over himself with the promise of Iwaizumi pushing inside him only fueling his anticipation.

"Goddamnit--" Iwaizumi's voice sounds foreign to his own ears, cracked and desperate.

He's never wanted anything in his life as much as he wants this moment.

In an instant, he has Oikawa's hips lifted up, his fingers digging into the tight skin of Oikawa's ass, spreading him wide as he lines his cock up. Oikawa's shivering underneath him, his shoulders shaking and Iwaizumi doesn't need to look to know what's coming.

"You asshole, I swear to God--" he hisses, glaring down at Oikawa under furrowed brows.

It's too late, though. Oikawa's already started laughing.

To hell with this, Iwaizumi thinks, and pushes in anyway.

Oikawa's laughter dies with a strangled moan that's music to Iwaizumi's ears.

"Fuck," Iwaizumi exhales, burying himself to the hilt. Oikawa's slick, like he promised, but for as much as Iwaizumi and Hiroshi fooled around they never quite got this far. Over the radiating heat of his own pleasure, the rushing blood in his ears, Iwaizumi's aware of the tension in Oikawa's legs around his waist, the tightness of the hands at his ass.

His eyes open into slits, one hand holding steady to Oikawa's hip as he leans forward over him, watching the fevered rise and fall of Oikawa's chest, the quiver of his lips as he pulls gasping breaths in past them.

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi groans, bracing himself with one arm against the bed beside Oikawa's head. He somehow finds the willpower to hold his hips still, just for a moment. "Oikawa."

Oikawa whines in reply, high and needy at the back of his throat.

Iwaizumi grits his teeth.

"Use your goddamn words."

"I shouldn't have to--" Oikawa tosses his head to one side, sweat slicked curls splaying across his flushed cheeks. "You already said--you were going to fuck me."

"I've got my dick inside you, dumbass, that part should be obvious."

Oikawa turns the full force of his glare on Iwaizumi, cheeks puffed in protest. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"Are you ready?" Iwaizumi demands, putting on as serious an expression as he can manage with his fingers shaking, his cock pulsing inside of Oikawa, and every fiber of his being screaming against him just to move.

Oikawa's expression stutters. His eyes widen, mouth hanging open with some childish retort dying on his lips. The moment hangs over them, punctuated only by their ragged breaths before Oikawa swallows, his throat bobbing.

His hands leave Iwaizumi's ass, fingers all but dancing up along the line of his spine, making Iwaizumi shudder and grit his teeth at the strain of just holding still. The tension in his jaw releases when Oikawa's fingertips trace over it, before ghosting feather light touches over his cheekbones and into his hair. Iwaizumi watches, eyes wide and chest heaving as the look on Oikawa's face shifts, a transformation so subtle that Iwaizumi can't see the change until it's complete, until his lips are bowed in a gentle smile, the corners of his eyes soft and warm with a look that traps Iwaizumi and draws him in, until the world around him closes in to the impossible depths of Oikawa's eyes.

"I'm ready."

Iwaizumi's hips jerk and his lips close over Oikawa's in a single rolling motion. He has to strain to reach, his back curled awkwardly over Oikawa's body, knees digging into the mattress with his hand at Oikawa's hip pulling him closer with every thrust. Oikawa's hands quickly find their way to Iwaizumi's hair, his fingertips dragging against Iwaizumi's scalp and pressing in with bruising pressure.

They can't hold the kiss for long, both of them pulling apart as they gasp for breath. Iwaizumi groans, low and heated, the slick pressure of Oikawa around him forcing every thought from his mind to blend into an indistinguishable white heat. He pushes off the bed, against the pressure of Oikawa's hands, grabbing Oikawa's other hip in hand and drives in harder, faster.

"Iwa--" Oikawa's voice stutters. Iwaizumi greedily watches as his throat bobs with a hiccuping moan. "Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi's mouth opens with a feral groan, low and intense enough that he feels it rumbling against the weight of his ribs, feeding the heat of his cock as he buries it inside of Oikawa again and again.

"Oikawa," he chokes out, his voice breathless and cracking like the heat of a fire. "Shit--Oikawa."

Oikawa doesn't answer him in words. His hands find their way to the back of Iwaizumi's neck, thumbs behind his ears, fingers curling over his nape as though he's holding on for dear life. His head tosses back against the bed with a pleading moan the slick brown curls of his hair scattering over white sheets. His neck stretches back, pale skin taut and bared as his entire body writhes against Iwaizumi's. Iwaizumi can feel the strength in the roll of Oikawa's hips as they counterpoint his thrusts. He can see Oikawa's muscles tighten under the sweat-slicked skin of his abs, can feel them in the way Oikawa's thighs squeeze against his waist, urging him on and on--

"Oi--" Iwaizumi stammers, he can feel himself at the edge, desire racing under his skin, too-hot and electric. He grits his teeth, eyes squeezed shut and gives in. His thighs slap audibly against Oikawa with his next thrust. Oikawa cries out under him, desperate and unrestrained. Iwaizumi's hips jerk, thrusting in. His thighs are hot with the strain and effort of it, his fingertips numbing where they dig into Oikawa's hips. He can feel sweat dripping over his back, against the line of his shoulders.

Beneath him, Oikawa writhes. His cries give way to strangled, staccato breaths, pitching higher and higher until suddenly they halt with a strained exhale.

"Iwai--" is the only sound that Oikawa's can form before he moans, loud enough to be a shout, and slams his hips down onto Iwaizumi's cock, his body tensing around him, as he comes with a splatter of white across his belly.

Iwaizumi doesn't last after that. He drives into the tight heat of Oikawa's ass, burying himself deep only a few more times before the wire thin tension wrought over every limb of his body snaps and his orgasm takes him.

Everything is white-hot and brilliant. All the tension slips from his limbs like he's been soaking in a bath so hot that it suffuses deep into his bones. As the sound of his heartbeat in his ears slows, he slowly becomes more aware of his own panting breaths, of Oikawa's breathing beneath him.

Oikawa is the first to move, loosening his grip on Iwaizumi's neck to trace his fingertips gently up into the short fringe of hair at his nape. Iwaizumi shudders, over sensitive to the touch and to the subtle shift of Oikawa's body still around him that comes with it. He shifts just enough to pull himself out with another shiver running up his spine.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, and finds Oikawa looking up at him.

In that moment, Oikawa is beautiful. His cheeks shine under a thin layer of sweat, splotched and ruddy from exertion. His lips, still kiss swollen and red, are parted just enough as he draws in slow, steadying breaths. His hair sticks haphazardly to his forehead, his temples, everywhere, but it's his eyes that capture Iwaizumi over everything else.

Oikawa is watching him, eyes half-lidded and dark, his pupils still blown from pleasure, with a look that Iwaizumi can only properly classify as adoration.

Iwaizumi draws his lips together in a soft line, parting them again as he draws in a breath. His chest is tight, but not in a way that feels suffocating. Instead, it's a warm, constant pressure like two strong arms wrapped around him, there to support him, ready to catch him if he falls.

He releases Oikawa's hips, lowering them down to the bed. One hand braces against the sheets there, the other lifting up to carefully brush Oikawa's damp bangs from his face.

Oikawa's brows furrow with the touch, one of them gently lifting with a question that Iwaizumi answers with a sharp glance that's still soft at the edges.

In that moment, it all feels familiar again. What's changed between them, the new shape of their relationship doesn't feel like something so different after all.

Iwaizumi lets the thought out with a soft, fond breath. Leaning up over Oikawa's body, he drops his lips to his forehead with a soft kiss, his lips curling up in a grin.

"Congratulations, idiot."

**Author's Note:**

> In my original notes for this fic there was a lot more angst and they didn't hook up until after they graduate but halfway through it Iwaizumi was just having none of that shit so this is what it turned into instead. I even wrote a few scenes I didn't get to use because I pissed Iwa-chan off with all the melodrama. Ah well.


End file.
